Strangers
by lillialyce
Summary: AU. Oneshot. Seven-year-old Lovino Vargas met someone new while he was in the park, and it was an encounter that would change his life.


**Warnings: Do not read if you do not want to see badly written ****implied**** non-con shota.**

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><p>Gripping the chains tightly, he twists the swing round and round so that when it unwinds, he can just sit there and spin and be dizzy and forget everything.<p>

Once again, he is a coward, running from jealousy and resentment and anger, hiding in a park away from everyone who he feels wronged him.

"Hello, little Lovi."

_What? _His feet dig into the dirt below him and he flails forward, almost landing face first into the man's legs.

Lovino wants to question him, blinking when he finds that it's hard to keep staring into the man's eyes. Those eyes are so green, so familiar, and the man is. . . somewhat decent looking. . . "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," Lovino finally says, pulling his gaze toward the side.

The park is devoid of people, other than them, and the sun is low in the sky. It's not dusk yet, but the sky isn't as bright as it used to be. The swing behind him is creaking, and Lovino wants to sit back down again. He doesn't, but only because he remembers his teacher (and she's really cute) saying that he needs to be able to run. If he's sitting down, he's more vulnerable.

"Don't think of me as a stranger," the man says seriously, though his tone is light. "I'm just here to play."

Narrowing his eyes, Lovino mumbles, "Then play over there, bastard. You're annoying." Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he doesn't want this man to leave. Even though he's a stranger, there's something about him that just makes Lovino want to talk. He looks like Lovino has seen him before.

"Ah, but I'm not _dangerous_." The man smiles. His grin looks innocent enough, but it makes Lovino's insides twist in discomfort.

Technically, the man is a potential danger because he's just so much _bigger_. . . But he's smiling and happy and seemingly childlike, and it would be just rude to ignore him. The guy is just being nice, maybe? Not many people are nice anymore.

Lovino twiddles his fingers, lost in thought. Then, with sudden realization, he points his finger at the man and accuses, "Look what you made me do! I wasn't supposed to talk to you, dammit!" His face is red, and he clamps his hand over his mouth afterward, for talking again. Lovino doesn't say that he'd wanted to talk to the man who looks friendly and kind, when he has been lonely for a long time.

The man clucks his tongue, resting his hand on Lovino's head. "What a dirty mouth you have," he murmurs in disappointment. "And at such a young age, too." The heat radiating from his palm is comfortable, and Lovino sighs and relaxes. All of his old fears and discomforts fade. "You can't be over six."

Lovino almost proves him wrong with an "I'm actually _seven_, dumbass" but doesn't.

The man leans forward and winds Lovino's hair around his fingers. While it is awkward at first and Lovino _knows_ he shouldn't just stand there uselessly, he finds the feeling pleasant and can't bring himself to move. Some small part of him savors the attention he's receiving. He shivers.

"I. . ." He doesn't know what to say, really. "You're a bastard," he settles on, and seems content. Because the man _is_ a bastard for insulting him and making him stop swinging and. . . distracting him from how sad he's been feeling for awhile. . .

Maybe meeting this man is a good thing. Maybe he isn't _that_ much of a bastard. Beside him, the swing set creaks as the wind blows it back and forth.

The man stops his gentle ministrations with Lovino's head and frowns. His grip tightens a little, and Lovino ducks out of the way, out of the man's grasp. "That's not very nice. We barely know each other."

Lovino tilts his head, considering. He's been bored and gloomy all day, actually, wandering alone around the park. This man is the first person he's talked to in _forever_ that isn't Grandpa or Feliciano or someone who is talking just to know them and not Lovino. "Then who are you?"

"You can call me Antonio." His grin widens, and he clasps his hands together. Lovino takes a step backward, almost tripping on the swing when it collides with his thighs.

"Then, I'm Lovino," he almost says, but he refrains because Antonio is just _weird_. Antonio can't be trusted with this type of information. (This is all ignoring the fact that after a day of nothing to do but cry and mope, talking to Antonio is fun and refreshing and feels _wonderful_.) The breeze ruffles Lovino's hair as he squints at Antonio's face. "Have we met before or something?" he demands.

There is an uncomfortable pause before Antonio answers, with an awkwardness that does not suit him, "I'm your friend, Lovi."

"No, you're not." He sticks out his tongue, crossing his arms. "I've seen you somewhere before, but I don't remember you."

Antonio shakes his head with an empty, indecipherable smile. "I would know if I saw _you_ before."

Lovino regards Antonio with suspicion. "I guess. . ." He is oddly flattered and blushes pink, though he isn't quite sure what Antonio means by his words. He decides that it is best not to believe Antonio. "You just look so familiar. . ."

(It's not a lie. Antonio could have been at the back of the grocery store or one of those people always in front of the school or a neighbor in the apartment complex, but he is definitely familiar.)

"All the other kids have gone home." Antonio gestures toward the sky, as the sun is now beginning to set and the sky is a dusty orange. His subject change annoys Lovino for about a second, but he lets it go, as there's no real reason to talk about Antonio's looks being something Lovino _thinks_ he's seen before. "Now's when the big bad wolf comes out to prey."

_Play_, Lovino is about to correct. _The big bad wolf comes out to_ play _not_ pray. (Of course, Antonio could have just stumbled on his words. It's not uncommon. And Lovino isn't sure what he means, anyway.) He doesn't get the chance to say this because Antonio speaks again, changing the subject in that quirky little way Lovino is starting to get used to, starting to like.

"What are you doing out here so late? It'll be dark in a few minutes."

Unthinkingly, Lovino replies, "Grandpa's busy with Feliciano again." Antonio's eyes seem to light up at Lovino's words.

Lovino glares at Antonio like the man has personally wronged him; he, like everyone else, brought Feliciano into the conversation somehow. The bastard. "Oh?" Antonio asks, and Lovino hates him for it.

Waves of jealousy burst through him, then, annoyed that Antonio is already more excited about Feliciano, a boy whom he hasn't even met. "I was bored, dammit!" Lovino defends himself poorly, probably misinterpreting Antonio's interjection. "And don't judge me, you jerk!" He's already trying to come up with excuses to not talk about his brother.

"So. . . Your grandfather doesn't know you're here?" Antonio taps his chin, looking down at Lovino with an unusual, unreadable look. Lovino shakes his head. At least it hadn't been about. . . "And your brother?"

Lovino kicks at the ground, watching a small cloud of dust rise into the air and fade. His eyes sting a little, but it must have been the dust. He couldn't have been getting _emotional_ over something trivial like this, even if he's been feeling this way since Feliciano was born.

"It's not like they'll notice I'm gone anyway."

(Some small inkling of hope that never seems to die parades forth the idea that Grandpa and Feliciano are out searching for him. It is, of course, a lie. The two are probably back at home, painting and smiling and laughing, assuming nothing different has happened, that Lovino has thrown his usual tantrum and locked himself in his room again.)

There is a silence before Antonio speaks again. "No!" He is sympathetic, sweet tones and coos and _oh_ how it makes Lovino feel nice, special, _wanted_. Lovino almost smiles. "Of course they'll notice, Lovi. You're so _cute_!"

Lovino's face reddens because he's only ever been cute by association. He likes how it feels, to be the cute one for once.

(Is it proper etiquette to say _thank you _to comments like that? It's more tempting to curse Antonio out, even though it is not the right occasion.)

Antonio appears to take delight in seeing Lovino embarrassed, clasping his hands together. "Your face is so red! Aww, do you usually blush like this?" Then he says something in another language that Lovino can't understand.

"Jerk," he mutters, puffing out his cheeks. He wants to look somewhere else but is unable to look away from Antonio. "You're a liar."

With a laugh, Antonio wipes a fake tear from his right eye. "I'm not lying. You're very pretty."

"You're so stupid." Lovino blushes more strongly, wondering if it's possible to radiate so much heat from his face. He doesn't even care that he was just called _pretty_ and he's a boy. He wants to call Antonio a liar again, but the happiness he feels—and it's a somewhat unknown happiness he hasn't felt in a long time—overpowers his need to disagree with everything.

Is it so wrong for him to accept a compliment, when he so rarely receives them?

Antonio stares toward the sky, and Lovino finally notices how dark it is; it's not completely dark as the sun has not set all the way, but it is still dark enough to make Lovino have to squint to see well.

"You tempt me more than you know, Lovino." Antonio breaks into his thoughts. His voice is very serious.

Rolling his eyes, Lovino isn't sure what to say. He decides to walk away instead; it's darker than he'd originally anticipated walking home in. "I guess I'm going now."

"Really?" Antonio pouts. Lovino nods, his blush still present. "It was really nice talking to you. I hope we'll see each other again!" He's waving so frantically Lovino can't help _but_ smile. He quickly shoves the smile back down because it's the first real smile he's had in ages, and it's being directed toward a stranger named _Antonio_, for crying out loud.

"Whatever."

Antonio waves _good bye_ and shoves his hands in his pockets. Something flashes in his eyes. "I really do want to see you again, Lovi," he says softly, but it is loud enough for Lovino to hear.

Lovino sees him turn and walk in the opposite direction, and his heart flutters as he watches Antonio fade away and eventually disappear. He originally ran off so he wouldn't have to watch his grandpa coddle Feliciano again, but he's surprisingly happy with the outcome of his little adventure.

(_Obviously_ Grandpa doesn't let seven-year-olds run around parks alone near sundown. At least Antonio didn't notice or question it. It would've been annoying to answer stuff like that.)

Lovino hopes Grandpa and Feliciano are worried, so he can stroll in and smirk then run to his room and smile like people always do in movies. The thought entertains him, and he can't help the small smile on his face or the light blush staining his cheeks.

The old blush and smile have faded because of time.

He thanks the sky for being dark, so the people that pass by (not that there are any; the streets are virtually empty) cannot see his face. He really hopes he'll see Antonio again.

. . .

Then there are these sudden, heavy footsteps that smack against the sidewalk and ring in Lovino's ears. Fear coils in his belly and immobilizes him temporarily, but then he decides he's over thinking it and being suspicious of nothing.

_Tap. . . _

_Tap. . . _

_Tap. . ._

Some embarrassing part of him hopes it is Antonio again. He tries to spin around to see who it is, almost successful, but not quite.

He's not even a block from the park when the hand snakes around his waist. It's gripping him so tightly he can't breathe, and then he's thrown over this stranger's shoulder, unable to see his captor's face.

For a moment, Lovino is stunned. What's going on? He'd been alone at the park. _Alone._ No one could have. . .

"Let go!" he shrieks. He isn't sure who's grabbed him or who he's going to call for help from. (Antonio, maybe? But the man has to be long gone by now.)

He begins to thrash, kicking his legs and screaming "letgoletgoletgo!" to no avail. He's dragged in the opposite direction of where he was walking, back toward the park, and while he lashes at the man holding him down, he curses his naïveté and stupidity and inability to pay attention to obvious things.

Why is he even being taken? He isn't cute (though Antonio seems to think so) like Feliciano, so no one wants him.

Unless this kidnapper isn't taking for that. But then why. . . ?

The hold on his waist hurts and he keeps gasping for air he isn't receiving and tears are leaking from his eyes and something's covering his nose and he wants it all to stop. He wants to be warm and safe and back at home where it doesn't hurt.

Then he realizes it smells funny. It smells terrible. It smells so much he's starting to feel dizzy. But he can't pass out. He _can't_.

"Le. . . leggo. . . f'me. . ." His head lolls.

Lovino hears footsteps again, in the distance. Some part of him hopes that, with those pounding footsteps will come Antonio (or _anyone_: he's willing to settle) ready to save him. He calls out desperately, embarrassed and annoyed when he hears his captor chuckling, but the footsteps he thinks he's heard are gone as quickly as they've come.

He's dumped rather unceremoniously in the trunk—or is it the backseat, he can't even tell—of a car. It feels like one of those old style vans where there's a lot of room in the back for druggies and their friends. The air smells sickeningly sweet now, and he can't concentrate enough to think properly. The trunk—or is it considered a door?—slams closed.

He hits his head and curses in his attempt to scramble away. He's unable to focus and hates how his request for his kidnapper to drop him is followed but not in the way he'd wanted.

Lovino's eyelashes flutter, pressing against his cheeks as he is just about ready to fall asleep, when it actually hits him that he's being kidnapped. _Kidnapped_.

For once, instead of focusing on his inadequacies and angers, Lovino feels genuine fear. He doesn't want to be taken by some person he doesn't know. He'll never see his family again, and even though he always complains about them, he still wants to be with them.

"No!" he cries, throwing his hands out in attempt to punch his captor.

_God. . . _Lovino tries to recite a prayer in his head, wanting nothing more than to be sitting in the corner and watching Feliciano and his grandpa paint, something he'd scowled at just hours before. Someone has to come for him. Someone has to walk by and notice there's something wrong.

But. . . They're probably eating at home, without him. They don't care that Lovino isn't at the table; they never have. It hurts to think that his grandpa and Feliciano aren't even looking for him.

He forces himself to stop thinking about these things. It makes him more and more depressed to think this way. Instead, he focuses on how dark it is dark in the van. And then Lovino can't help but wonder why he is being taken, when no one would want _him_ of all people when beautiful baby Feliciano is available.

(Always wanting attention but now getting in the wrong way. _God_, this isn't what. . . Please don't. . .)

His eyes are half-lidded, and he tries desperately to keep them open.

A hand brushes against Lovino's leg, stopping to squeeze his thigh and rub his skin. The gesture is rough, almost painful. The other hand, so warm in his hair, is gentle while caressing his cheek.

Lovino relaxes almost unconsciously, leaning into the soft hand. It's strange, comforting. It doesn't feel right, in this situation.

Then the stranger is shoving fingers in Lovino's mouth and making him choke. Lovino wants to bite down on them (he would have, if the funny smell wasn't affecting him so) but he's losing his strength. The fingers are prodding everywhere in his mouth, near his throat, his teeth, his tongue, everything.

Now the hand on his leg is too high. And. . . and. . . it's not supposed to be_ there_! It should. . . stop. . . _Stopstopstop!_

Lovino tries to sit up, tries to focus his vision to glare. "Pl. . . Please. . ." Lovino's voice is barely a whisper and the other man simply chuckles in response. Fingers stroke Lovino's cheek as the man's other hand is groping at other parts of Lovino's body. "I. . ."

"You're so cute, little Lovi. I could just eat you up!"

The last thing Lovino remembers is that Antonio's grin is absolutely twisted.

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><p><strong>(Please know that I'm not a pedophile or creeper or kidnapper of children. I'm just a crazed kid-thing who <strong>_**really **_**needs a life because this is what ends up being written over winter break—yeah, I didn't post it until now—instead of cute fluffy normalcy.)**

**This fic is slightly different from the one on LiveJournal only because I spotted so many glaringly ugly mistakes when I was getting this ready to post here and found the need to re-edit everything. XD**

**I know the ending is rushed and awkward and out of place, and the characters are so obviously OOC, and the fic itself has a strange topic, but I hope that you enjoyed it regardless. *fail***


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